by CJ Petterson
Griebe understood Sully had found something too important to discuss on an unsecured phone. Griebe rubbed stubby fingers over his beard, then closed the cell and dropped it on the seat while he contemplated the house.
Just as he reached for his door handle, he caught a glimpse of someone out of the corner of his eye at the same time there was a tapping at the passenger-side window. In one well-practiced motion, his right hand moved across to the belt holster he carried on his left side and came back up with a gun.
Mirabel stood gaping into the bore of a Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum aimed at the middle of her forehead.
The weapon disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Griebe turned the key in the ignition, toggled down the window, and smiled. “Don’t want to walk up on me like that, Doc.”
“I … thought you might like to come in for coffee, use the bathroom, whatever.”
“Now that’s timing. You caught me with my hand on the door. I’d like that. Thanks.” By the time he’d pushed aside the crossword puzzle and stepped out of the truck, Mirabel had fled into the house, leaving the front door open.
• • •
Mirabel was still trembling when she heard Griebe close the door and turn the deadbolt. She didn’t call out, figuring he’d find his way to the kitchen eventually.
When he walked in, he had dropped all expression from his face. “Probably not a good idea to leave the door open, even if you did think I’d be the next one coming in.”
“That’s two mistakes I seem to have made.”
“That’s two too many.”
“Look, I’m not the pro here,” Mirabel snapped. “I’m still learning about these things. Sully told me you were FBI.”
“I was, and you don’t have to be a pro to exercise some common sense.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t think I like you, Mister Griebe.”
He shrugged his big shoulders. “Well, that’s okay because I’m not here for you to like. Now that the amenities are out of the way, is your offer still good?”
“The bathroom’s back there.”
She took out her irritation on the cabinets, opening and slamming doors and drawers as she pulled out a cup and utensils. When she turned away from the last slam, he stood in the doorway, not bothering to hide his amusement. She took his smile as a challenge.
“Where’s your cheap black suit and Ray-Bans, Mr. FBI man? That is the FBI uniform, isn’t it?”
He sighed. “I’m retired.”
“Right.”
“Is the coffee offer still good?”
“As long as you take it black.”
“Only way to go.”
She set a mug of the steaming brew on the table, but not exactly in front of him and closer to her side of the table than his. He had to bow slightly to reach out and pick it up, and he did so with a grin.
Despite the aroma that testified she had just toasted a bagel, she didn’t offer to do the same for him. Instead, she pulled one of the bagels out of the paper sack and set it on a square of floral-printed paper towel. She moved the nosh next to a block of cream cheese and stabbed a table knife into the center.
“I’ll pass on the bagel, thanks.” He hefted the white mug with the word Java scripted in red on the side. “Okay if I take this out to the truck?”
She shrugged. “It’s not fine china.”
“I’ll see it comes back in one piece.”
“You can leave it on the steps. I’ll get it later.”
Griebe nodded. “You might want to follow me to the door and lock it behind me.”
“Sure, fine, whatever.”
When he walked out the door, she slammed her hand against the wood and threw the deadbolt. “Well, one thing’s for sure,” she said through the door. “Santa, you ain’t.”
• • •
Griebe heard the rumbling of a car muffler, looked into the rearview mirror, and watched Sully’s convertible roll to a stop in the driveway behind him. He retracted the point of his ballpoint pen and slipped the cylinder into a pocket on the sunvisor. He toggled up the electric locks and tossed the newspapers onto the back seat just before the Ramcharger’s door swung open and Sully slid onto the seat next to him.
“She’s a pistol,” Griebe said and shook his head.
Griebe’s apparent exasperation drew a broad smile from Sully. “Can I say I told you so? What happened?”
Griebe related his encounter with Mirabel without embellishment. “What’d you find, Genius Butt?” he asked when Sully got control of his laughter.
“Not much. Did I tell you her hobby is astronomy?”
“What’s that got to do with the plane crash and Saint John?”
“I don’t know yet where Saint John fits in, but remember the joint task force we were on? Operation Dawgstar?”
“Yeah, I do. That started up just as I was retiring. Another one of those new-technology competitions aimed at whiz kids in aerospace engineering programs at some of the Ivy Leagues. Run by our illustrious Defense Department’s advanced research agency, as I recall.”
“That DARPA project came up with some viable test modules, one of which is being tested as we speak.”
Griebe eyebrows lifted slightly. “Way to go, all you little von Braun wannabes.”
“You’re dating yourself. Mirabel called the Mount Palomar Observatory last week for some night sky pictures. She told our agent there she thought she’d seen a new star or comet.”
Griebe swore, eyed the side view mirrors and the street then checked the rear view. His eyes were never still. “She didn’t.”
“They did.”
“They?”
“Mirabel and her stargazing partner, the now-missing Raymond Briggs, aka the local dentist.”
Griebe pushed an audible breath of air out of his lungs and swore again. “That does complicate things for you.”
“We expected there could be civilians involved.”
“Bet you didn’t expect the civilians to include your ex-wife and her boyfriend. Does she know what you really do for a living?”
Sully shook his head. “She’ll find out soon enough. ’Course with Mirabel that’ll probably be some time in the next half hour.”
“I haven’t had a chance to say it before, Sully, but I’m real sorry about Dan. He was a good man.”
Sully swallowed hard. “One of the best. When he retired last year from the Senior Executive Service he opened up his little flight school. He always wanted to have his own school when he got out. One year was all he got.”
“Do you think he was Saint John’s target, and Mirabel got in the way?”
“I’ve got a niggling feeling about it. Dan called me a couple days ago. Said he’d found a mole in my yard.”
Griebe’s eyebrows lifted. “A double-agent in the CIA? Did he say who? How long it’d been there?”
Sully shook his head. “He was going to meet me in Vegas. Give me a name. But if Dan was the target, why is Saint John trying to squeeze something out of Mirabel?”
“Maybe he wanted to make sure Dan didn’t pass along the info before he died.”
“Maybe.”
“How long had Dan been with the Company?”
“CIA since ’Nam. He recruited me after I got out of Iraq in ’92 … Desert Storm.”
“I wondered who’d been your sponsor.” Griebe fell silent for several minutes then cleared his throat. “Evan Thompson, the local law enforcement. Friend of yours?”
“I’ve known him a long time, but we’re not what you’d call best friends. It’d be a mistake to trust him completely. He’s got a new deputy I know nothing about yet. She’s a blank slate.”
Griebe grunted. “And we both know what that means — deep cover and not necessarily our
s. Man, this thing gets curiouser and curiouser. Okay. I’ll be back after I grab some lunch.” He handed Sully the coffee mug. “Take this to the doc for me.”
Sully chuckled. “Chased you out of the house, did she?”
“Thought I’d be better off out here in the heat. Your ex could put a chill on a popsicle when she gets mad.” Griebe cranked the engine, and it started with a deep rumble that shook the truck frame. He smiled at Sully in a way that softened his eyes and warmed his face. “By the way, since I think she’s keeping score, I’ve got two strikes.”
• • •
Mirabel had her temper primed and ready when Sully opened the door.
“You weren’t here a while ago, so let me repeat myself. Your Mr. Griebe is an arrogant S.O.B.”
“It’s Gree-bee, not Greeb, and don’t be so hard on Frank. He’s just doing his job, and, in case you missed it, he’s here to protect you. You can’t go around leaving your doors open, Mirabel. Your visitor last night wasn’t here to play games.”
“Your friend — ” Hearing the threat out loud derailed her for a moment.
“Frank is hard-nosed when it comes to doing his job, but he’s really a pussycat.”
“Well, he’s got a perfect disguise.”
“Read my lips, Mirabel,” Sully said and leaned close. “You are in danger. That guy that was here last night? He’s a contract assassin. His name is Nigel Saint John — ”
“I thought he said something like ‘Sin Jen.’ How do you know him? How do you know Frank Griebe, for that matter? Are you FBI, too? And give me my key back.” Mirabel held out her hand until Sully pulled the spare from his pocket and dropped it in her palm.
Sully poured a cup of coffee, dragged a blob of cream cheese across half a bagel, and bit off a chunk. “Saint John is the only thing important right now,” he said past the lump in his cheek. “He fancies himself an artist, not an assassin.”
“An artist? Murder as an art form? That’s idiotic.” Mirabel paced the floor, punctuating her angry words with a jabbing finger. “Dead is dead, and a gun is a gun is a gun.”
“Sometimes it’s only an autopsy that proves his victim’s death wasn’t an accident or from natural causes.” He took another bite of bagel and shrugged. “Don’t believe me? One of his first victims was a priest who died in front of his Sunday morning congregation. His vitamin capsules had been refilled with poison. Another was a diplomat who died while dancing with his daughter at her wedding — his antiperspirant had been laced with curare. It paralyzed his heart and lungs.”
She shuddered. “You’re scaring me.”
“If that’s what it takes to get you to listen to me. Saint John enjoys his work and takes pride in being very creative.”
“How do you know all that? What are you into?”
“I’m into keeping you safe.”
She bit back a retort, took Griebe’s coffee mug over to the sink, and peered out the window. “I see you’re still driving your old Wrangler. I remember when you bought that heap.”
“Changing the subject won’t make this go away.”
“I hate when you do that! That’s a lot of what went wrong with our marriage.
“Hate what?”
“When you treat me like a child — thinking you know what I’m thinking.”
“If I knew what you were thinking, I wouldn’t have to ask what you hate.” One eyebrow arched, and he shook his head. “You’re trying to pick a fight.”
“Stop it!”
His face softened, and the corners of his mouth curved up. “How about this? I think that you think our marriage was never dull in bed.”
The look in his eyes derailed her anger for a brief moment and almost quieted her worry. “Lech. And that reminds me, Mister O’Sullivan. I woke up this morning wearing my red nightgown.”
“That number was too sexy to pass up. You wear that one for anyone in particular?”
“I wear what pleases me, thank you very much. And what I do or don’t do is none of your business.”
“Last week that may have been true, but now, you are my business. I need to know what Saint John knows about you that I don’t. You asked me what I’m into; now I’m asking you. Start with why you were going to Vegas and the plane crash then bring me up to this minute.” He poured another cup of black coffee and held the pot in her direction. When she shook her head, he stood with his back braced against the counter and sipped his coffee while she talked.
Mirabel, her hands clasped on the kitchen table in front of her, told him everything she could remember. About the genome report she was supposed to give in Vegas, spotting the elusive twinkle in the sky, the hoped-for sidebar visit to the astronomy club, the plane crash, what happened to Dan, what he said, and about the events that filled her days afterward. She labored through every devilish detail until more than two hours had passed. When she finished, she pinned him in a stare.
“Tell me again why you carry a gun and why I’ve become your business. I must’ve missed that part, too.” She saw a veil slide over his eyes. The eyes that had warmed her heart minutes before darkened to the color of bittersweet chocolate. His face went blank.
“There are things about me you don’t know.”
“Well, that’s stating the obvious. I’m listening.”
“It’s safer if you don’t know too much, at least for a little while longer. I promise I’ll explain later.”
She considered his words for a long moment. “Seems I haven’t known who you were from the first day we met,” she said with some exasperation. “I’m too mentally wiped to worry about it right now, but I will hold you to that promise.”
He nodded and drained his cup. “For now, think of Frank and me as your personal bodyguards. And when we tell you to do something, you have to do it immediately and without question. Can you do that?”
“I hear you.”
“I want to hear you say yes.”
“Yes,” she said, even though she knew she’d make her own decisions when the need arose. “Why are those men after me?”
“Haven’t figured that out yet.” He hesitated a beat. “With Saint John here, it seems to have something to do with power brokers and governments.”
“I don’t have a clue what he’s after. As for your power brokers and governments, I don’t move in those circles.”
“You might recognize a few of their names, and they obviously know who you are.”
“That makes no sense whatsoever. Why would they know me? I’m a nobody.”
“You’re a well-respected botanist and a backyard stargazer. Somehow, it seems you’ve put the fear of God in some otherwise godless people.”
“I put the fear of God in myself, too, but why?” She propped an elbow on the table and leaned her forehead against one hand. “Do you think I’ll survive this, Sully?”
He crouched next to her, put his hand over hers, and squeezed. “Frank and I are here to make sure you do. Tell me again what Dan said. Exactly.”
“He said, exactly, that the odds were all wrong, that too many things quit.”
“Nothing about meeting up with me?”
“Just that he was looking forward to seeing you.”
“Okay, now tell me about what you and Ray you spotted in the sky.”
“Ray didn’t really see it. I did. Why?”
“What did you think was special about it?” Sully said.
“We’d been out looking for variable stars, and — ”
“Variable stars? Comets I know. Variable stars are … ”
“Distant suns,” she said. “Only that’s not what I saw. I picked up on a faint twinkle of light, but when Ray and I checked our star chart, we couldn’t find it. So I called the Mount Palomar Observatory for a survey photo. After that, the twinkle disappeared. A couple
of days later I was out by myself, and I saw it again. For a half second, I thought I saw something trailing it, like a shadow. I got real excited then, thinking I’d seen the tail of a comet, maybe a new one, but it disappeared again. That was when I went out and bought a new telescope with the big-bucks eyepiece. It got smashed in the lab.”
“And you could see the headlines: Amateur finds new comet, and the Campbell Comet would be in books everywhere, like Halley’s.”
“The Briggs-Campbell Comet, like the great Hale-Bopp discovery in the late ’90s.”
“I thought your boyfriend didn’t see it,” Sully said.
“Doesn’t matter. And he’s not my boyfriend. He’s just a friend, but he’s also my astronomy partner, so his name has to be on it too.” She sighed. “I guess it could’ve been a chaotic-course asteroid.” She saw the question in his eyes. “A chaotic-course asteroid is one whose course can’t be predicted. Astronomers don’t know how often those things might return, if ever.”
“Where’s the survey photo?”
“Don’t have it. Why?”
“What happened to it?”
“It’s at the convention center in Las Vegas,” she said. “Stop frowning. That’s where the astronomers’ meeting is happening. I asked the people at Mount Palomar to send it to me there. What’s going on?”
“Can you get another copy?”
“Already in the mill. I called the observatory yesterday. Ray asked for a copy. Why are you so — ” She gasped. “That’s it, isn’t it?” Mirabel felt the color drain out of her face. “That twinkle, comet, whatever it is, is somehow the cause all this death and destruction.”
“The twinkle has nothing to do with the plane crash or your friend’s disappearance. Your sighting it is just a weird coincidence, not a cause.”
She pulled her hand out of his. “How do you know that?”
“The twinkle is the reason I’m here.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“What did I find?” Mirabel said in a tone that made the question a demand.
“You have to quit digging into this. You could expose something that affects national security.”